An Auctioned Bride (Highland Heartbeats #4)(42)

She felt so tired, not only physically, but emotionally. Her slumber had been understandably fitful, constantly waking to make sure Hugh was breathing, and no footsteps were approaching their hiding place. Last night, it had gotten chilly enough that, while he slept deeply, she had lain close to him, soaking in his warmth. Despite the saddle blanket and the one other blanket she had brought back from the hut, the lack of a fire kept them both chilled to the bone.

She sat down on the banks of the stream, hidden in the underbrush growing close to its banks. The stream was maybe two stone throws wide, but it didn't look deep. Its surface was smooth, glistening with brilliant spots of sunlight. A few rocks in its center caused low eddies that rippled gently around them, and tiny waves rhythmically lapped onto the shore.

Here, the landscape was filled with underbrush, but as the slopes rose, towering close growing and towering pines overshadowed the steep slopes of the mountains and the granite spires hovering along the hillsides. In the distance, to the east and north, she saw another mountain range, only the tips of the mountains now glowing an orange-red color with the late afternoon sunlight. The rest of the valley spread away, wreathed in shadow.

Relieved that all seemed calm, she ventured close to the water, digging her hands into the soft soil where the water lapped at the silt. To her pleasure, she did find an earthworm and quickly stabbed it onto her fishing hook, then tossed the string and hook as far as she could into the water. She wished she could venture into the stream itself. It didn't look to be particularly fast running, but she was afraid to expose herself, not only to the cold waters, but to anyone lurking up in the higher elevations who might see her.

For a time, she relaxed, soaking in the warmth, closing her eyes and just listening to the sounds of nature around her. She felt a tug on the string and gently snapped it toward her. She felt the tug again, then slowly pulled it in, a smile lifting her lips as she pulled a medium-sized fish from the water.

She grabbed the slippery fish, pulled the hook from its mouth, then, cringing, slammed the fish down hard on the dirt beside her to quickly kill it.

She dug for another worm, slid it onto the hook, and tossed the string in again. And waited. The sounds reminded her of home, and a surge of painful homesickness rose inside her. She opened her eyes and shook the memories away. Had those fjords ever been home? Truly home? A place to live, certainly, but her ideas of home were now forever jaded. The same was true of—

She heard a sharp snap of a stick in the near distance and froze.

An animal?

Her heart thumping, she quickly tugged in her string and pulled in her legs, quickly backing into a thicker growth of shrubs by the bank, careful not to rustle or shake them. She couldn't see much, but her ears strained for another sound. For several moments, she heard nothing. Had that been a stag stepping on a stick, coming down to the river to drink? A branch falling off of a tree? It could have been.

She hadn't seen—

She caught a whiff of something in the air, frowned, and then recognized it.

Wood smoke.

Where was it coming from?

Ever so carefully, she inched forward, hoping she would be able to peer through the leafy branches of the undergrowth without causing too much of a disturbance. She moved in increments, careful to watch where she placed her hands and knees.

Finally, she was able to creep low enough to the ground to slide forward on her belly. Barely peeking her head past the growth, she first looked downstream, then up, every movement slow so as not to garner attention.

There!

Just before the river rounded a bend to the north, perhaps a half a league in the distance, she saw movement. Two men, dressed in rough clothing and leathers. One of them led a foursome of horses down to the stream to drink. Her eyes widened in dismay as she recognized the mare that Hugh had bought in the village.

It was them!

Somehow, out of coincidence or by following their sign, they had figured out the direction that she and Hugh had escaped.

The man with the horses was joined shortly by another, and then another. At that moment she realized it was the same group of people—three men wearing rougher clothing, native Scotsmen, and there, standing near the edge of the trees, gazing down at the water, stood the other man, dressed in nicer clothes.

They were too far away for her to recognize any of them, but when the man wearing the town clothes moved, striding toward the water, she recognized his walk. She felt nausea rise in her throat as her heart thumped in dismay.

A myriad of emotions swept through her.

Uncle Amund!

No doubt about it. It was her uncle.

Anger—anger such as she had never felt before, surged like a hot fire deep in her belly. The kidnapping had elicited emotions of fear, uncertainty, and the terror of impending death. The voyage in the ship had also evoked an emotional maelstrom, but the anger that she felt at this moment bordered beyond hatred.

Her hands closed into fists. She fought the urge to stand up and confront her uncle, knowing that to do so would be the epitome of foolishness. Doing so would likely mean her impending death, and Hugh's.

She closed her eyes, trying to gain control of her breathing, trying to soothe her shattered spirit, to tamp down that fury that threatened to overcome her better judgment.

Now she knew. No question, no uncertainties, no lingering doubts. The only question that remained was whether her father was involved. Uncle Amund rarely did anything without consulting her father. But this? Then again, her father had never been especially close to her, nor concerned about her welfare as long as she stayed out of his way.